The History of Sir Charles Grandison, Volume 4 (of 7)
Miss Jervois whispered me at parting. I never before, said she, had an opportunity to observe the behaviour of a new-married couple to each other: but is it customary, madam, for the bride to be more snappish, as the bridegroom is more obliging?
Lady G– is very naughty, my dear, if she so behaves, as to give you reason to ask this question.
She does: and, upon my word, I see more obedience where it was not promised, than where it was. Dear madam, is not what is said at church to be thought of afterwards? But why did not the doctor make her speak out? What signified bowing, except a woman was so bashful that she could not speak?
The bowing, my dear, is an assent. It is as efficacious as words. Lord G– only bowed, you know. Could you like to be called upon, Emily, to speak out?
Why, no. But then I would be very civil and good-natured to my husband, if it were but for fear he should be cross to me: but I should think it my duty as well Sweet innocent!
She went away, and left the doctor with me.
When our hearts are set upon a particular subject, how impertinent, how much beside the purpose, do we think every other! I wanted the doctor to talk of Sir Charles Grandison: but as he fell not into the subject, and as I was afraid he would think me to be always leading him into it, if I began it, I suffered him to go away at his first motion: I never knew him so shy upon it, however.
Sir Charles returned to dinner. He has told Lady L–, who afterwards told us, that he had a hint from Mr. Galliard, senior, that if he were not engaged in his affections, he was commissioned to make him a very great proposal in behalf of one of the young ladies he had seen the Thursday before; and that from her father.
Surely, Lucy, we may pronounce without doubt, that we live in an age in which there is a great dearth of good men, that so many offers fall to the lot of one. But, I am thinking, 'tis no small advantage to Sir Charles, that his time is so taken up, that he cannot stay long enough in any company to suffer them to cast their eyes on other objects, with distinction. He left the numerous assembly at Enfield, while they were in the height of their admiration of him. Attention, love, admiration, cannot be always kept at the stretch. You will observe, Lucy, that on the return of a long-absent dear friend, the rapture lasts not more than an hour: gladdened, as the heart is, the friend received, and the friends receiving, perhaps in less than that time, can sit down quietly together, to hear and to tell stories, of what has happened to either in the long regretted absence. It will be so with us, Lucy, when I return to the arms of my kind friends: and now, does not Sir Charles's proposed journey to Italy endear his company to us?
The Earl of G–, Lady Gertrude, and two agreeable nieces of that nobleman's, were here at dinner. Lady G– behaved pretty well to her lord before them: but I, who understood the language of her eyes, saw them talk very saucily to him, on several occasions. My lord is a little officious in his obligingness; which takes off from that graceful, that polite frankness, which so charmingly, on all occasions, distinguishes one happy man, who was then present. Lord G– will perhaps appear more to advantage in that person's absence.
Mr. Beauchamp was also present. He is indeed an agreeable, a modest young man. He appeared to great advantage, as well in his conversation, as by his behaviour: and not the less for subscribing in both to the superiority of his friend; who, nevertheless, endeavoured to draw him out as the first man.
After dinner, Lady L–, Lady G–, and I, found an opportunity to be by ourselves for one half hour. Lady G– asked Lady L– what she intended to do with the thousand pounds with which Lord W– had so generously presented her?—Do with it, my dear!—What do you think I intend to do with it?—It is already disposed of.
I'll be hanged, said Lady G–, if this good creature has not given it to her husband.
Indeed, Charlotte, I have. I gave it to him before I slept.
I thought so! She laughed—And Lord L– took it! Did he?
To be sure he did. I should otherwise have been displeased with him.
Dear, good soul!—And so you gave him a thousand pounds to take part of it back from him, by four or five paltry guineas at a time, at his pleasure?
Lord L– and I, Charlotte, have but one purse. You may not perhaps, know how we manage it?
Pray, good, meek, dependent creature! how do you manage it?
Thus, Charlotte: My lord knows that his wife and he have but one interest; and from the first of our happy marriage, he would make me take one key, as he has another, of the private drawer, where his money and money-bills lie. There is a little memorandum-book in the drawer, in which he enters on one page, the money he receives; on the opposite, the money he takes out: and when I want money, I have recourse to my key. If I see but little in the drawer, I am the more moderate; or, perhaps, if my want is not urgent, defer the supplying of it till my lord is richer: but, little or much, I minute down the sum, as he himself does; and so we know what we are about; and I never put it out of my lord's power, by my unseasonable expenses, to preserve that custom of his, for which he is as much respected, as well served; not to suffer a demand to be twice made upon him where he is a debtor.
Good soul!—And, pray, don't you minute down, too, the use to which you put the money you take out?
Indeed I often do: always, indeed, when I take out more than five guineas at one time: I found my lord did so: and I followed the example of my own accord.
Happy pair! said I.—O Lady G–, what a charming example is this!—I hope you'll follow it.
Thank you, Harriet, for your advice. Why, I can't but say, that this is one pretty way of coaxing each other into frugality: but don't you think, that where an honest pair are so tender of disobliging, and so studious of obliging each other, that they seem to confess that the matrimonial good understanding hangs by very slender threads?
And do not the tenderest friendships, said I, hang by as slender? Can delicate minds be united to each other but by delicate observances?
Why thou art a good soul, too, Harriet!—And so you would both have me make a present to Lord G– of my thousand pounds before we have chosen our private drawer; before he has got two keys made to it?
Let him know, Charlotte, what Lord L– and I do, if you think the example worth following—And then—
Ay, and then give him my thousand pounds for a beginning, Lady L–?
But see you not that this proposal should come from him, not from me?—
And should we not let each other see a little of each other's merits first?
See, first, the merits of the man you have married, Charlotte!
Yes, Lady L–. But yesterday married, you know. Can there be a greater difference between any two men in the world, than there often is between the same man, a lover, and a husband?—And now, my generous advisers, be pleased to continue silent. You cannot answer me fairly. And besides, wot ye not the indelicacy of an early present, which you are not obliged to make?
We were both silent, each expecting the other to answer the strange creature.
She laughed at us both. Soft souls, and tender! said she, let me tell you, that there is more indelicacy in delicacy, than you very delicate people are aware of.
You, Charlotte, said Lady L–, have odder notions than any body else.
Had you been a man, you would have been a sad rake.
A rake, perhaps, I might have been; but not a sad one, Lady L–.
Lady G– can't help being witty, said I: it is sometimes her misfortune, sometimes ours, that she cannot: however, I highly approve of the example set by Lord L–, and followed by Lady L–.
And so do I, Harriet. And when Lord G– sets the example, I shall— consider of it. I am not a bad economist. Had I ten thousand pounds in my hands, I would not be extravagant: had I but one hundred, I would not be mean. I value not money but as it enables me to lay an obligation, instead of being under the necessity of receiving one. I am my mother's daughter, and brother's sister; and yours, Lady L–, in this particular; and yours too, Harriet: different means may be taken to arrive at the same end. Lord G– will have no reason to be dissatisfied with my prudence in money-matters, although I should not make him one of my best courtesies, as if—as if—(and she laughed; but checking herself)—I were conscious—again she laughed—that I had signed and sealed to my absolute dependence on his bounty.
What a mad creature! said Lady L–: But, my Harriet, don't you think that she behaved pretty well to Lord G– at table?
Yes, answered I, as those would think who observe not her arch looks: but she gave me pain for her several times; and, I believe, her brother was not without his apprehensions.
He had his eyes upon you, Harriet, replied Lady G–, more earnestly than he had upon me, or any body else.
That's true, said Lady L–. I looked upon both him and you, my dear, with pity. My tears were ready to start more than once, to reflect how happy you two might be in each other, and how greatly you would love each other, were it not–
Not one word more on this subject, dear Lady L–! I cannot bear it. I thought my-self, that he often cast an eye of tenderness upon me. I cannot bear it. I am afraid of myself; of my justice—
His tender looks did not escape me, said Lady G–. Nor yet did my dear Harriet's. But we will not touch this string: it is too tender a one.
I, for my part, was forced, in order to divert myself, to turn my eyes on Lord G–. He got nothing by that. The most officious—
Nay, Lady G–, interrupted I, you shall not change the discourse at the expense of the man you have vowed to honour. I will be pained myself, by the continuation of the former subject, rather than that shall be.
Charming Harriet! said Lady L–. I hope your generosity will be rewarded. Yet tell me, my dear, can you wish Lady Clementina may be his?
I have no doubt but you wish her recovery; but can you wish her to be his?
I have debated the matter, my dear Lady L–, with myself. I am sorry it has admitted of debate: so excellent a creature! Such an honour to her sex! So nobly sincere! So pious!—But I will confess the truth: I have called upon justice to support me in my determination: I have supposed myself in her situation, her unhappy malady excepted: I have supposed her in mine: and ought I then to have hesitated to which to give the preference?—Yet—
What yet, most frank, and most generous of women? said Lady L–, clasping her arms about me: what yet—
Why, yet-Ah, ladies—Why, yet, I have many a pang, many a twitch, as I may call it!—Why is your brother so tender-hearted, so modest, so faultless!—Why did he not insult me with his pity? Why does he on every occasion shew a tenderness for me, that is more affecting than pity? And why does he give me a consequence that exalts, while it depresses me?
I turned my head aside to hide my emotion—Lady G– snatched my handkerchief from me; and wiped away a starting tear; and called me by very tender names.
Am I dear, continued I, to the heart of such a man? You think I am. Allow me to say, that he is indeed dear to mine: yet I have not a wish but for his happiness, whatever becomes of me.
Emily appeared at the door—May I come in, ladies?—I will come in!—My dear Miss Byron affected! My dear Miss Byron in tears!
Her pity, without knowing the cause, sprung to her eyes. She took my hand in both hers, and repeatedly kissed it!—My guardian asks for you. O with what tenderness of voice—Where is your Miss Byron, love? He calls every one by gentle names, when he speaks of you—His voice then is the voice of love—Love, said he to me! Through you, madam, he will love his ward—And on your love will I build all my merit. But you sigh, dear Miss Byron! you sigh—Forgive your prating girl!—You must not be grieved.
I embraced her. Grief, my dear, reaches not my heart at this time. It is the merit of your guardian that affects me.
God bless you, madam, for your gratitude to my guardian!
A Clementina and a Harriet! said Lady L–, two women so excellent!
What a fate is his! How must his heart be divided!
Divided, say you, Lady L–! resumed Lady G–. The man who loves virtue, for virtue's sake, loves it wherever he finds it: Such a man may distinguish more virtuous women than one: and if he be of a gentle and beneficent nature, there will be tenderness in his distinction to every one, varying only according to the difference of circumstance and situation.
Let me embrace you, my Charlotte! resumed Lady L–. for that thought. Don't let me hear, for a month to come, one word from the same lips, that may be unworthy of it.
You have Lord G– in your head, Lady L–: but never mind us. He must now and then be made to look about him. I'll take care to keep up my consequence with him, never fear: nor shall he have reason to doubt the virtue of his wife.
Virtue, my dear! said I: What is virtue only? She who will not be virtuous for virtue's sake, is not worthy to be called a woman: but she must be something more than virtuous for her husband's, nay, for her vow's sake. Complacency, obligingness—
Obedience too, I warrant—Hush, hush, my sweet Harriet! putting her hand before my mouth, we will behave as well as we can: and that will be very well, if nobody minds us. And now let us go down together.
LETTER XXII
MISS BYRON.—IN CONTINUATION THURSDAY, APRIL 13
We played at cards last night till supper-time. When that was over, every one sought to engage Sir Charles in discourse. I will give you some particulars of our conversation, as I did of one before.
Lord W– began it with a complaint of the insolence and profligateness of servants. What he said, was only answered by Sir Charles, with the word Example, example, my good lord, repeated.
You, Sir Charles, replied my lord, may indeed insist upon the force of example; for I cannot but observe, that all those of yours, whom I have seen, are entitled to regard. They have the looks of men at ease, and of men grateful for that ease: they know their duty, and need not a reminding look. A servant of yours, Sir Charles, looks as if he would one day make a figure as a master. How do you manage it?
Perhaps I have been peculiarly fortunate in worthy servants. There is nothing in my management deserving the attention of this company.
I am going to begin the world anew, nephew. Hitherto, servants have been a continual plague to me. I must know how you treat them.
I treat them, my lord, as necessary parts of my family. I have no secrets, the keeping or disclosing of which might give them self-importance. I endeavour to set them no bad example. I am never angry with them but for wilful faults: if those are not habitual, I shame them into amendment, by gentle expostulation and forgiveness. If they are not capable of a generous shame, and the faults grow habitual, I part with them; but with such kindness, as makes their fellow-servants blame them, and take warning. I am fond of seeking occasions to praise them: and even when they mistake, if it be with a good intention, they have my approbation of the intention, and my endeavours to set them right as to the act. Sobriety is an indispensable qualification for my service; and for the rest, if we receive them not quite good, we make them better than they were before. Generally speaking, a master may make a servant what he pleases. Servants judge by example, rather than precept, and almost always by their feelings. One thing more permit me to add; I always insist upon my servants being kind and compassionate to one another. A compassionate heart cannot habitually be an unjust one. And thus do I make their good-nature contribute to my security, as well as quiet.
My lord was greatly pleased with what his nephew said.
Upon some occasion, Lady G– reflected upon a lady for prudery, and was going on, when Sir Charles, interrupting her, said, Take care, Lady G–. You, ladies, take care; for I am afraid, that MODESTY, under this name, will become ignominious, and be banished the hearts, at least the behaviour and conversation, of all those whose fortunes or inclinations carry them often to places of public resort.
Talk of places of public resort! said Lord L–: It is vexatious to observe at such, how men of real merit are neglected by the fine ladies of the age, while every distinction is shewn to fops and foplings.
But, who, my lord, said Sir Charles, are those women? Are they not generally of a class with those men? Flippant women love empty men, because they cannot reproach them with a superiority of understanding, but keep their folly in countenance. They are afraid of a wise man: but I would by no means have such a one turn fool to please them: for they will despise the wise man's folly more than the silly man's, and with reason; because being uncharacteristic, it must sit more awkwardly upon him than the other's can do.
Yet wisdom itself, and the truest wisdom, goodness, said Mrs. Reeves, is sometimes thought to sit ungracefully, when it is uncharacteristic, not to the man, but to the times. She then named a person who was branded as a hypocrite, for performing all his duties publicly.
He will be worse spoken of, if he declines doing so, said Dr. Bartlett. His enemies will add the charge of cowardice; and not acquit him of the other.
Lady Gertrude being withdrawn, it was mentioned as a wonder, that so agreeable a woman, as she must have been in her youth, and still was for her years, should remain single. Lord G– said, that she had had many offers: and once, before she was twenty, had like to have stolen a wedding: but her fears, he said, since that, had kept her single.
The longer, said Sir Charles, a woman remains unmarried, the more apprehensive she will be of entering into the state. At seventeen or eighteen a girl will plunge into it, sometimes without either fear or wit; at twenty she will begin to think; at twenty-four will weigh and discriminate; at twenty-eight will be afraid of venturing; at thirty will turn about, and look down the hill she has ascended; and, as occasions offer, and instances are given, will sometimes repent, sometimes rejoice, that she has gained that summit sola.
Indeed, said Mrs. Reeves, I believe in England many a poor girl goes up the hill with a companion she would little care for, if the state of a single woman were not here so peculiarly unprovided and helpless: for girls of slender fortunes, if they have been genteelly brought up, how can they, when family connexions are dissolved, support themselves? A man can rise in a profession, and if he acquires wealth in a trade, can get above it, and be respected. A woman is looked upon as demeaning herself, if she gains a maintenance by her needle, or by domestic attendance on a superior; and without them where has she a retreat?
You speak, good Mrs. Reeves, said Sir Charles, as if you would join with Dr. Bartlett and me in wishing the establishment of a scheme we have often talked over, though the name of it would make many a lady start. We want to see established in every county, Protestant Nunneries, in which single women of small or no fortunes might live with all manner of freedom, under such regulations as it would be a disgrace for a modest or good woman not to comply with, were she absolutely on her own hands; and to be allowed to quit it whenever they pleased.
Well, brother, said Lady G–, and why could you not have got all this settled a fortnight ago, (you that can carry every point,) and have made poor me a lady abbess?
You are still better provided for, my sister. But let the doctor and me proceed with our scheme. The governesses or matrons of the society I would have to be women of family, of unblamable characters from infancy, and noted equally for their prudence, good-nature, and gentleness of manners. The attendants, for the slighter services, should be the hopeful female children of the honest industrious poor.
Do you not, ladies, imagine, said Dr. Bartlett, that such a society as this, all women of unblemished reputation, employing themselves as each, (consulting her own genius,) at her admission, shall undertake to employ herself, and supported genteelly, some at more, some at less expense to the foundation, according to their circumstances, might become a national good; and particularly a seminary for good wives, and the institution a stand for virtue, in an age given up to luxury, extravagance, and amusements little less than riotous?
How could it be supported? said Lord W–.
Many of the persons, of which each community would consist, would be, I imagine, replied Sir Charles, no expense to it at all; as numbers of young women, joining their small fortunes, might be able, in such a society, to maintain themselves genteelly on their own income; though each, singly in the world, would be distressed. Besides, liberty might be given for wives, in the absence of their husbands, in this maritime country; and for widows, who, on the deaths of theirs, might wish to retire from the noise and hurry of the world, for three, six, or twelve months, more or less; to reside in this well-regulated society. And such persons, we may suppose, would be glad, according to their respective abilities, to be benefactresses to it. No doubt but it would have besides the countenance of the well-disposed of both sexes; since every family in Britain, in their connexions and relations, near or distant, might be benefited by so reputable and useful an institution: to say nothing of the works of the ladies in it, the profits of which perhaps will be thought proper to be carried towards the support of a foundation that so genteelly supports them. Yet I would have a number of hours in each day, for the encouragement of industry, that should be called their own; and what was produced in them, to be solely appropriated to their own use.
A truly worthy divine, at the appointment of the bishop of the diocese, to direct and animate the devotion of such a society, and to guard it from that superstition and enthusiasm which soars to wild heights in almost all nunneries, would confirm it a blessing to the kingdom.
I have another scheme, my lord, proceeded Sir Charles—An hospital for female penitents; for such unhappy women, as having been once drawn in, and betrayed by the perfidy of men, find themselves, by the cruelty of the world, and principally by that of their own sex, unable to recover the path of virtue, when perhaps, (convinced of the wickedness of the men in whose honour they confided,) they would willingly make their first departure from it the last.
These, continued he, are the poor creatures who are eminently entitled to our pity, though they seldom meet with it. Good nature, and credulity, the child of good nature; are generally, as I have the charity to believe, rather than viciousness, the foundation of their crime. Those men who pretend they would not be the first destroyers of a woman's innocence, look upon these as fair prize. But, what a wretch is he, who seeing a poor creature exposed on the summit of a dangerous precipice, and unable, without an assisting hand, to find her way down, would rather push her into the gulf below, than convey her down in safety?
Speaking of the force put upon a daughter's inclinations in wedlock; Tyranny and ingratitude, said Sir Charles, from a man beloved, will be more supportable to a woman of strong passions, than even kindness from a man she loves not: Shall not parents then, who hope to see their children happy, avoid compelling them to give their hands to a man who has no share in their hearts?
But would you allow young ladies to be their own choosers, Sir Charles? said Mr. Reeves.
Daughters, replied he, who are earnest to choose for themselves, should be doubly careful that prudence justifies their choice. Every widow who marries imprudently, (and very many there are who do,) furnishes a strong argument in favour of a parent's authority over a maiden daughter. A designing man looks out for a woman who has an independent fortune, and has no questions to ask. He seems assured of finding indiscretion and rashness in such a one, to befriend him. But ought not she to think herself affronted, and resolve to disappoint him?
But how, said Lady G–, shall a young creature be able to judge—
By his application to her, rather than to her natural friends and relations; by his endeavouring to alienate her affections from them; by wishing her to favour private and clandestine meetings (conscious that his pretensions will not stand discussion); by the inequality of his fortune to hers: and has not our excellent Miss Byron, in the letters to her Lucy, (bowing to me,) which she has had the goodness to allow us to read, helped us to a criterion? 'Men in their addresses to young women,' she very happily observes, 'forget not to set forward the advantages by which they are distinguished, whether hereditary or acquired; while love, love, is all the cry of him who has no other to boast of.'
